


This is Our Song

by ConstellationStation



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, I'll add character tags as they appear, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstellationStation/pseuds/ConstellationStation
Summary: A collection of Celicalm one-shots based on my headcanons.





	1. Telltale Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celica reflects on her scars.

There are two ways of wielding magic.

The first, preferred by scholars, is by channeling the magic through a tome. The ley lines are written on the pages which burn away as it’s activated. Casters would have to rely on tomes, each with only a limited use, but it does ease their burden. This is the method prevalent in Archanea, or so the Whitewing sisters say as they watch in amazement as Celica and her friends cast spells with only their hands.

The second, preferred by the clergy, is by channelling the magic through themselves. While the caster can use spells independently, the toll it takes on their bodies can be fatal if they’re not careful. Power swells within them and it traces blazing paths through their arms as it leaves the body through their fingers. This method is most practiced in Valentia, where even those who aren’t faithful tend to use it.

While Celica grows up to be pious, she remembers her initial misgivings when she was first learning magic.

  
  


She watches in trepidation as Father Nomah conjures up a fireball and holds it in one hand. It’s small, about the size of her fist. The ley lines that glow around Nomah are brighter than the flame it sustains. Celica both fears and marvels at the power necessary to cast such a simple spell.

“It’s going to hurt a bit,” Nomah tells her, “spells are useful tools the Mother gave us to help us in our lives, but they come at a cost.”

Celica makes her first attempt. She narrows her eyes in concentration and ley lines start to glow around her. Warmth shoots up her arms, bearable at first, but the heat intensifies as a ball of flame forms above her palms. She stares, mesmerized by the flickering tongue of fire.

But the heat coursing through her veins becomes scorching, and Celica finds herself no longer at the priory. Instead, she is in a villa, where there is nothing but fire and screaming. Smoke from a memory, from lifetimes ago and at the same time all too recent, fills her lungs and with a gasp, her concentration, and her spell, is broken. 

The heat fades away. So does her childhood home. She is back at the priory with Nomah pressing a hand, coated in the gentle glow of a healing spell, against her trembling ones. 

“Are you alright, Little One?” 

Celica nods, letting the magic soothe her. “If the Mother wanted to help us, then why’d She make it so painful?”

He sighs, finishing his spell. “Magic teaches us the values of service and sacrifice. Yes, you can do great deeds like save lives and defeat your enemies. But in order to relieve pain, you must first feel it. In order to hurt others, you will first be hurt. To abuse this power is to abuse yourself.”

  
  


Celica remembers Father Nomah’s hands back then, riddled with pale scars from a lifetime of spell casting. She hasn’t lived anywhere near as long as the elderly priest, yet her hands are just as scarred. While Nomah’s were from healing and dispelling Terrors, Celica’s were marred for worse sins.

She examines the jagged lines on her hands. She’s probably killed just as many people with her magic as the people she healed with it. Admittedly, they ranged from pirates and bandits, to enemy soldiers who would not hesitate to cut her and her friends down if she didn’t cut them down first. But it still hurt. If not her hands, then her heart.

So she bears the scars with grace. If there is a price to pay for her strength to protect and heal, then she will pay her due gladly. Even with the relative peace the One Kingdom of Valentia now lived in, there were still Terrors, and bandits, and her people in need of healing. And so she continues to use her magic.

But oh, how it hurts! 

Worst of all, it seems her sins are finally catching up to her. With the Mother having passed, Celica pays respects to all the marks She left behind. She makes regular pilgrimages and even sees to it Her damaged statues and temples are restored and maintained. However, Her most personal mark, the one on the palm of Celica’s right hand, was now obscured under a crosshatch of scars.

It was still visible, but only barely, and if one knew what to look for. Celica traces with a finger the place where Mila’s Mark should be. There were but hints of darker flesh under the scars and calluses of her palm. 

She’s being ridiculous, she knows. She can’t simply stop using magic, her people need her! There was no undoing the damage already done either. But she still mourns the loss. It wasn’t just her Goddess she was losing her connection to, but also her other half, the boy with the selfsame mark...

As if summoned by her thoughts, she hears his voice. “Are you alright, Celica? You look troubled.”

Celica looks up to see Alm just a few feet away. She had been so lost in thought, she didn’t hear his approach despite his armor. 

“I’m fine, but thank you,” she tells him, scooting aside on the stone bench she sat on to make space for him.

“If you say so,” Alm says slowly, trying to gauge her expression. “But I’m always ready to listen if you need it.” 

Saying this, he casually takes her hand in his. His gauntlets are tucked away at his belt, as they usually are when he’s not in combat. Celica sees Duma’s Mark, proud and unblemished, at the back of his left hand. She frowns.

She quickly tries to school her expression into something neutral, but Alm doesn’t miss it. “Are you sure you’re alright? If there’s anything I can do-”

“No,” Celica says hastily, “you’re fine. Besides, it’s silly.”

He squeezes her hand, “it’s not silly if it’s bothering you this much. But if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand.”

Celica sighs, “okay. I’ll think about it.”

They are both quiet for a while. Celica takes in their surroundings while she gathers her thoughts. They are in Zofia’s Castle gardens. There had been talk of building another castle in the middle of the continent, but she was adamant about focusing on the people’s immediate needs rather than splurging their resources on unnecessary luxuries. She refused to make her father’s mistakes. Instead, she and Alm traveled between Zofia’s and Rigel’s castles, staying wherever they’re needed most.

She’d been at the castle all day seeing to the affairs of the Kingdom while Alm had been on patrol. She retired to the gardens after a particularly grueling council meeting when Alm found her. Whether by coincidence or intention, she wasn’t sure.

Alm fills the silence with soft humming. It’s not a tune she recognizes and she wonders if it’s from Rigel. She looks down on their intertwined fingers, then on Duma’s Mark. While it was also on his sword hand, the brand was protected beneath his armor and spared from the wear and tear of his palms. Celica had her own gloves, but no amount of padding was going to save her mark from the internal damage of her magic.

“Hey, Alm,” he stops humming and glances at her. “Do you think- I mean,” she struggles to broach the subject, “what do you think of your brand?”

“Oh, this?” He lifts his hand, still not letting go of hers. “It’s a pretty big deal, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well,” he suddenly seemed embarrassed to meet her gaze, “if I’m being honest, I don’t really think of it as Duma’s Mark most of the time.”

Celica raises her brow at this. He continues. “I didn’t even know it was called that until a year ago. It was just a weird birthmark for me at first. Then I met you and saw you had a similar mark and…”

Alm is blushing, but he makes himself look her in the eye. His expression is earnest. “It reminds me of you. During all those years we were separated, I just look at my brand and I feel connected to you.”

“Oh, Alm...” is all she can say to that. It makes sense that Alm wouldn’t hold his mark with the same religious significance she does with hers. She grew up in a priory surrounded by Mila’s imagery. He grew up in a remote village, an entire country away from the Duma faithful. The warmth in her chest is bittersweet. On one hand, Alm shares her sentiment with their brands, on another, she’s losing her part of that connection.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, turning away.

Celica cups his cheek with her free hand. He leans into her touch. “Don’t be. That’s very sweet of you, and I feel the same. But…”

“But?” There’s an edge of worry to his tone.

She drops her hand from his face and pulls the other gently from his grasp. “I fear I won’t have my brand for much longer.”

She shows him her scarred palm, Mila’s Mark nigh unidentifiable under the mess. “The thought of losing it scares me. It’s all I have left of Mila and it’s something that reminds me of you, too, but now I can barely recognize it!”

Taking her hand again, Alm presses a kiss at the center of her palm. She stills at this.

He takes some time to gather his words, his thumb strokes her palm in the meantime. “You’re brand isn’t really gone, when you think about it. It’s still there, even if you can’t see it anymore; just like how the Gods are still watching over us even after They passed.”

His logic is so optimistic, so simple, yet so sound that Celica feels silly that she didn’t think of it like that before. Alm wasn’t even religious yet here he was, using her faith to cheer her up! 

Left speechless once more, she places her free hand on his shoulder and kisses him. When she pulls away, he has a dopey grin on his face and her own expression is probably something similar.

Alm wasn’t quite done yet though. Still holding her hand, he kisses her fingers, the surface of some was mostly scarred tissue with the occasional skin rather than the other way around. “Besides, these scars are from your magic, right?”

Celica hums in confirmation.

“And you use your magic to do Mila’s will. If anything, that strengthens your connection with Her, rather than erase it. And,” he adds, pressing his lips against her knuckles, “if there is any doubt at all to how much you mean to me, I will gladly quash it.”

Mother bless him, he really is too good for her.

“The council was wrong about us,” she tells him, “Of the two of us, I think you are far wiser.”

“Who, me? No,” Alm wraps his arm around her and holds her close, “the Kingdom would fall apart without you. I’m just good at hitting things and inspiring people.”

“And you’re way with words to inspire said people does not count as wisdom?”

“I, well- Oh hush, this isn’t about me, it’s about you!”

Celica bursts out laughing at this. He pouts at first, but then joins her.

"So," he says when the laughter subsides, "are you feeling better now?"

"Much," she says, as he continues to plant kisses on her hand. "Do you intend to kiss every scar?"

"If it makes you feel better about them, then yes." 

His lips pause at her wrist, where several crooked streaks extend from her hands until they almost reach her elbows. He notes that such scars were absent on her other arm. "Is this from a particular spell?"

"Yes, Flamberge actually." It was her most powerful technique that few enemies could withstand. Unfortunately, the toll it takes on her leaves her vulnerable to any counterattacks.

Alm hums and continues on, showering affection on the same scars she was lamenting just moments ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of magic causing scars actually came from fanfics! I really liked it and since magic costs hp in this game it makes sense.


	2. New Addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alm and Celica eagerly welcome a new addition to their little family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap is just fluff and humor

Alm loves harbors.

As the gateway to Zofia from the open ocean and the islands beyond, Zofia Harbor was a place of variety. People from different places and walks of life come and go by the boatloads, merchants displayed exotic goods from far and wide, and, for people like him and Celica, it was the perfect place to build connections.

They had been doing just that earlier, when they secured a deal with some Archanean merchants. In exchange for escorting them back to their homeland, they agreed to promote trade between the two continents. While the recent famine in Zofia and unrest from Rigel put a strain on the continent’s foreign relations, Alm and Celica were determined to make things better.

For now, though, they were taking it easy. Celica and Mae were chatting up a fisherman they knew from their travels while Grey was browsing through a foreign merchant’s wares. But as much as he loved the people and what they had to offer, Alm’s favorite thing about harbors were the cats.

“Look at you,” Alm coos to a fat tabby sunning itself on a crate. “Living the good life, huh?”

The cat dozes on, indifferent.

"You're too cute." He would've been content to just look at the sleeping cat until the others were done with their errands, but a flash of movement catches his eye. 

Another cat, orange and white, but just as fat, jumps down onto the cobblestones with a fish dangling in its jaws.

Finding this new arrival more interesting than the sleeping tabby, Alm turns to it instead. "Hey, little guy, where'd you get that?"

The cat spares him a glance, but trots away. He follows it with a fair bit of distance between them. It stops in a less populous corner of the harbor before tucking into its meal.

Alm hangs back, considering whether he should look for other cats to bother, maybe ones that were more appreciative of his companionship, when a tiny mewl catches his attention. 

A kitten crawls from out under an abandoned stall and approaches the eating cat.

Alm can't help the delighted squeal it elicits. "Aaw, you have a little baby!"

However, the cat doesn't welcome the kitten quite as eagerly as he did. Its coat fluffs up, and when the kitten got closer, the bigger cat hissed, lashing out with a paw.

"NO!"

Alm scrambles forward to intervene. Both cats are startled by his sudden advance. The bigger cat bolts away while the kitten scurries back under the stall from whence it came.

"Wait, I didn't mean to scare you!" He pleads, kneeling down with his cheek nearly pressed to the ground as he tries to get a look at the kitten. "I was just trying to help, come back!"

"Alm, do you know how stupid you look right now?"

He looks up to see Grey smirking at him, a basket filled with assorted goods tucked under his arm.

"Okay, so maybe this looks dumb out of context," he gets up and glances at the people around him, many quickly turn away. The thought of people- his people!- catching their king crawling around on the harbor made him wince in embarrassment. "But there's an explanation for this."

"_ Mew! _"

"There," he points to the stall where the kitten was still hidden under. 

Grey, apparently not hearing the kitten, looks confused. "Huh?"

"There's a kitten under there." He explains.

"There's a kitten?!"

Celica and Mae appear to have done a bit of shopping themselves. Celica hands the basket she was holding to her companion so she could crouch by the stall. "Under here?" 

"Yeah," Alm says, crouching down beside her and explaining what happened.

"Oh, what a poor little thing!" She frowns, "we should help it."

Mae holds up her basket, "maybe we can lure it out with something tasty! Think it'll like dagon?"

"You're going to feed _ dagon _ to a stray kitten?" Grey exclaims, "don't you wanna give it something… oh I dunno, cheaper?"

Mae shrugs, "hey, we were given this for free. It doesn't get cheaper than that."

"Dagon might be too tough for an itty bitty kitty though," Celica muses. "Grey, do you happen to have something that a cat might like?"

Rummaging through his own basket, he shakes his head. "I got some fancy tea, jam, a bunch of ink bottles, and other inedible junk."

"Who’s the tea for?" Alm asks.

"It's for Clair, alright." He mutters, a touch defensive.

"Ah," is all Alm replies as he spies the fish the other cat had left on the ground earlier. "I think this'll do."

"Eew, that's from the floor," Mae wrinkles her nose.

Alm leaves the fish in front of the stall then steps away, motioning for the others to do the same. They wait with baited breath as the kitten hesitantly ventures into the open.

Celica grips his arm, “It’s so tiny!” she whispers urgently.

And it really was. Unlike most of the cats they see in the harbor, this kitten was scrawny. Little ribs were visible through unkempt fur, and its legs were thin. It pauses just before the fish, looking up at them first before digging in. 

“Alm!” Celica whispers again, “we can’t just leave it here.”

He keeps his voice low as he responds, “Right, it doesn’t look like anyone’s taking care of it here. We should take it back home with us.”

“Ooh!” Mae singsongs, “someone’s getting adopted!”

Crouching back down, Celica inches her way towards the kitten. “It’s okay,” her tone is gentle and the kitten doesn’t seem averse to her approach, though it stops eating.

Celica holds out her hand to the kitten. It stares at her for a moment, sniffs at her fingertips, then resumes eating.

“Is that a good sign?” Grey asks. “What does that mean?”

“It probably is,” Alm unclasps his cape from his shoulders. “Celica, think it’ll let you carry it?”

She was already petting the kitten as it ate. “He’s a boy,” she announces after closer inspection. “What should we name him?”

“Oh, I have an idea, Sir Purr!” Alm quickly offers. While he’s always wanted a cat named Sir Purr, he didn’t actually think he’d get the chance. At least he had a name prepared.

“Sir?” Celica turns back to the kitten, “So small and already knighted, you must be a prodigy!”

“You mean a _purr_odigy,” Alm says with a chuckle. This earns him a laugh from Celica and a thwack on the back of the head from Grey.

“Grey’s just mad he actually had to work for his knighthood,” says Mae cheekily.

By then the kitten, Sir Purr, was already licking the fish bones, so Celica picks him up with a small_ mrrrp _ of protest. 

“Here,” Alm folds his cape and wraps it around Sir Purr so he’s bundled up in Celica’s arms. Almost like an infant, he thinks in bemusement, followed by the slightest hint of panic.

“Look at you!” Mae croons, tapping her finger lightly on Sir Purr’s nose. “Little baby boy!”

“Isn’t he darling?” Celica agrees, rocking him back and forth in.

Alm clears his throat awkwardly, "Right… perhaps we should return to the castle then?"

His discomfort doesn't go unnoticed by Grey, who elbows him in the ribs. He tries to push him away.

The girls ignore their scuffle. 

"If you're going back to the castle, then I've got a boat to Novis to catch. But," there's a shift in Mae's tone of voice, "don't even think you can go to Archanea without me!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Celica smiles. "I'll even inform Saber and the others. It can be like old times."

"Don't forget about the Deliverance!" Grey pipes up.

Alm tries to picture the combined forces of his and Celica's army. "We might need a bigger boat."

"We can split into groups for each merchant ship. Let's figure out the details some other time. Sir Purr is getting restless." The kitten was trying to squirm out of his cape, but Celica tucks him back in with an appeasing scratch behind the ears.

They bid Mae farewell and the rest of them return to Zofia Castle. 

Grey goes off on his own when they get back, presumably to look for Clair, leaving Alm, Celica, and Sir Purr to their own devices.

Alm leads the way to their rooms, opening the door for Celica. They didn't exactly share the bedroom, not officially at least. But their two rooms were adjoined and they both moved freely between them. They enter his room.

While the king's quarters were available, Celica hadn't wanted anything to do with it. Even Conrad wasn't willing to use it and so it remained vacant. The council then offered it to Alm, who politely declined. If neither of the king's children will use his quarters, then nor would he. 

That and rumors of what pastimes the late King Lima used to engage in his room disturbs him.

So Alm and Celica opted for the guest rooms instead. Meant for consorts and dignitaries, the rooms were lavishly furnished, as were the standards for Zofian nobility. Celica sets Sir Purr down on the bed, where he immediately wriggles out of his cape to explore his surroundings.

“How do we make this place more cat-friendly?” 

Alm watches Sir Purr sniff at his pillows. “We should get him his own place to sleep. I think I have some baskets in the closet.”

“Good idea,” Celica says, leaving, “I’ll just go get a washcloth, we should’ve probably cleaned him up first.”

Alm shrugs, opening the closet and peeking inside. There, at the floor, were a couple of wicker baskets meant for putting his shoes in. He’s never used them though, opting instead for leaving his boots by the foot of the bed. 

“Sir Purr, no!”

At Celica’s sudden raise of voice, Alm grabs the baskets and turns around. She’s holding a washcloth in one hand, and Sir Purr gingerly in the other. The dark splotch on his bed told him what happened.

“Sorry,” Celica adjusts her hold on their kitten, scrubbing him gently with the cloth, “I shouldn’t have left him alone like that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her, “it’s probably due for changing anyway.”

Still, he should remove the sheets before it seeps into the mattress. Alm puts the baskets down and plucks his cape off the bed to put inside one of them. He then peels off the soiled sheets, leaving it in a pile in a corner of his room.

“I’ll go call a maid,” Celica says, handing over Sir Purr, “you take care of him in the meantime.”

“Sure thing.” He watches her leave before setting Sir Purr down in one of the baskets. The kitten paws at the cape, kneading the fabric between his tiny claws.

“Yes, that’s your bed now,” Alm coos, “but don’t pee on it, okay?”

“Mew!”

“We’ll get you something else to pee on, or maybe take you outside.”

Sir Purr meows again before climbing out of the basket to inspect the other. After the light cleaning from Celica, Sir Purr’s coat was starting to show its original pattern. It’s going to take a more thorough washing to get rid of the grey tint, but Alm could see the stripes and creamy fur underneath. 

“That’s your other bed,” he explains, as if Sir Purr could understand, “it’ll be in Celica’s room for when you want to visit her. We usually leave the door open so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

The second basket was bare, so the kitten quickly grows bored with it. Sir Purr climbs back out to explore the rest of the room. Deciding there wasn’t much mischief to be done at ground level, Alm deems it safe enough to leave him to his own devices for only a moment. He goes back to the cabinet to look for things to put inside the second basket. Another cape maybe, or would that be too much? Sir Purr might find the wool scarves more comfortable…

He pulls out a blue scarf, well worn and faded. He distantly remembers purchasing it when the Deliverance was invading Rigel. Tatiana has since knit him a dozen other scarves now that he spends half a year in their home country, so it wasn't like this one would be missed.

Alm pools the scarf into the basket. "Pssst, Sir Purr!"

The kitten's ears perk and he stops throttling the tassels on the curtain to stare at Alm with wide blue eyes.

"Over here," he lifts one end of the scarf to wave it enticingly.

Sir Purr sprints towards him like an arrow loosed from a bow. Alm doesn't drop the scarf in time and ends up having his fingers bitten. 

The click of the door announces Celica's return. 

Clearly having more energy than could be contained in such a tiny body, Sir Purr immediately clambers out of the basket in order to greet her. Celica stumbles to a halt as she tries not to step on the kitten. She bends over to pick him up.

“You didn’t get into anymore trouble, I hope?” She pokes Sir Purr’s nose.

A maid steps in from behind her carrying a laundry basket. “Apparently milord has wet his sheets?” she teases.

Alm pretends to be hurt, “Spreading rumors about me? Celica, how could you!”

“Me? Spread rumors?” she puts Sir Purr down and crosses her arms in mock indignation, “I would never!”

"Fear not, milord," the maid laughs as she gathers the sheets, "as far as rumours go, being a bedwetter isn't the worst you have to deal with."

It takes a moment before the implications set in. "Wait, there are rumours about me?"

"Alas, I have spoken too much!" Hefting up the laundry basket, she winks at him before turning away. "Have a good day, Your Majesties"

"Are there really?" Alm asks Celica once the maid had left.

She shrugs in response. "The only rumours I bother listening to are Silque's, and not because I find credence in them."

"Although," she says slyly, "you do come up from time to time."

"All good things, I hope."

"You be the judge. Apparently you were quite the flirt in your Deliverance days."

This takes him aback, but Celica's smile is teasing. He's not quite sure if this is because she knows it's untrue and it doesn't bother her or she's just messing with him.

Either way, he plays along. "Oh, but my queen, surely you know my heart belongs to none other than you!" He proclaims dramatically, "My philandering days have long since been buried in the past, never again to see the light of day!" 

This makes them both laugh, but Celica glances down and her laughter fades.

"Hey, I was joking," Alm places a hand on her arm, "I've never actually flirted with anybody."

"I know that," she says, taking his hand and squeezing it softly, "but have you seen Sir Purr?"

Alm scans the floor as well. "Maybe he's under some furniture?"

They search the room, but there was no sign of the kitten. Alm checked under the bed, behind the curtains, and even in the cabinet, but still no Sir Purr.

"The windows and doors are closed, so he couldn't have left, unless…" Celica turns to him, "you don't think he snuck out when Rhonda came in?"

"He could be anywhere in the castle by now!" Alm rushes outside, Celica close behind him. There wasn't anything in the hallway that indicated where Sir Purr could've gone.

"You search the end of the wing, I'll head to the foyer," Celica says, already running.

"Got it," he calls after her, before doing a thorough search of the hallway. There were flower vases and suits of armor interspersed throughout the castle that a kitten could hide behind, but he came up empty thus far. Alm reaches the end of the wing, checking every nook and cranny, then doubles back, making his way to the foyer where Celica was speaking to a guard.

“-about this small,” she approximates with her hands, “his name is Sir Purr but I don’t think he answers to that yet.”

Alm jogs over, “I didn’t find him.”

Celica frowns, turning over to the staircases, “that means he’s not on this floor. The steps are probably too high for him, so he likely went downstairs.”

The guard salutes them both, “I’ll begin the search and inform the others right away.”

“Thank you for the help, Sir Marcus,” Alm says sheepishly, “I know this isn’t your usual job…”

“Service to the royal family is my job, milord, and everything that comes with it.”

The three of them head downstairs, Alm and Celica splitting up from the guard on the floor below. Alm suggests going farther down while Sir Marcus searched that floor.

They were halfway down the stairs when the clang of armored boots on polished stone caught their attention.

“Grandpapa!” 

Sir Mycen looks up at them. He was still in full plate armor from whatever patrol he just returned from, but what stands out the most was the little kitten he held loosely in one hand.

“Ah, children,” he lifts Sir Purr towards them, “were you looking for someone?”

Alm and Celica scamper down the rest of the steps as they rush to meet him. Alm finds himself recalling similar times in their childhood, back when Sir Mycen would return from different villages with souvenirs for the two of them.

“Where did you find him?” Celica asks.

Sir Mycen hands the kitten over to Alm. “The servants found him hiding in a pile of laundry. One of them said he belonged to you.”

“Thank you so much for finding him,” turning to Sir Purr, Celica adds, “and thank Mila you’re safe! You really are quite the troublemaker.”

“I wonder where he got that from…” Sir Mycen muses as he looks them over with a glint in his eyes.

“Don’t give us that, we haven’t had him for a day,” Alm pouts.

“I’ll go inform Sir Marcus that Sir Purr was already found before he gets others involved in this mess,” says Celica, going back up the stairs.

Alm turns to follow her but Sir Mycen places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Kids are a huge responsibility, but I’m sure you and Celica are going to do just fine.”

“W-what?!” Alm splutters.

“I said kittens.”

“Grandfather!”


End file.
